


Don't Talk With Your Mouth Full

by Eiznel24



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fontcest, Gags, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Public Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiznel24/pseuds/Eiznel24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus had nearly forgotten about that damned biological function. He didn't have time for this. And Sans was choosing NOW to assail him with his most ridiculous excuses of jokes? He was doing his best to control it, but Sans was just pushing all the wrong buttons. That mouth of his was going to get him in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Talk With Your Mouth Full

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have a shameless smut that wouldn't leave my brain while I work on the epilogue of Adjustments. Enjoy!

It was around 2:13 in the morning when he began to feel it. Papyrus sat up in bed, walking to his small bathroom and heading for the sink. He wasn’t exactly fond of his bathroom due to the small enclosed space—small spaces were the enemy of monsters as tall and bodily expressive as him—but it was his, and he liked that. He was used to sharing things with Sans and it didn’t bother him much, but having something of his own, even if it was a bathroom that was barely larger than a coat closet, was something he refused to take for granted. Besides, he thought as he splashed water across his face and arms, having his own space to wash up kept Sans from asking any questions.

His hands gripped the edges of the sink and he stared at his reflection, his expression hard. He’d nearly forgotten about this, his schedule as a sous chef taking up a vast majority of his time and hardly allowing him to think of anything but ingredient combinations and lists of orders. A wave of itchy tingles crawled along his limbs, making him shiver. Blast it, he had work tomorrow. This was hardly an appropriate time for this to happen! Then again, he mused bitterly, when was it ever an appropriate time for this? He had no partner, no mate with which to relieve him of his encroaching “problem”.

There had been a brief point where he’d been dating Mettaton shortly after their exodus to the surface, but Papyrus’s personality had made their relationship one-sidedly dependent and had led to far too many fights whenever they happened to both be in the same room. Perhaps he’d been a bit selfish in wanting more of his boyfriend’s time, but if he was going to be with someone, he was going to devote as much as time as possible to them. So that meant wanting all of Mettaton’s time to himself when he wasn’t working, which didn’t really agree with the robot’s hectic socialite lifestyle.

When Sans had found him crying at the doorstep of his one bedroom apartment, begging for company and comfort, Papyrus had had to stop him from going to dismantle his soon-to-be ex. Both Papyrus and Mettaton agreed on breaking off the relationship and Papyrus had eventually moved back in with Sans, not bearing the thought of living alone. His brother had more than willing to take him in, searching for two bedroom apartments as soon as Papyrus had approached him with the request. It had been a year and a half since then. Stars above, Sans was so kind. He was so protective and caring and generous and…

Papyrus bit back a curse as warmth flared across his bones, his grip tightening on the porcelain. It wasn’t supposed to get worse when he thought of Sans! Sans was his brother! His brother…with the wide, beautiful smile…the bright eyelights…the hypnotic low voice…the magic such a calming shade of blue…the gentle unthinking touches…he whined to himself as the itching intensified, his soul fluttering inside his ribcage. Sans would not know of this, he swore to himself. It was his problem to handle. He would just…throw himself into work. Cooking always helped him relax. At least…that’s what it usually did. No, he told himself. He _would_ control it, and he wouldn’t doubt his ability to do so! He began removing his pajamas and eyed the shower stall. A cold shower would help. He bit back a moan as the tip of one of his fingers grazed against his exposed sternum. At least…he hoped it’d help.

* * *

 

   “how you enjoying that mofn, bro?”

Papyrus’s brows scrunched together, the muffin in question halfway to his mouth.

   “I BEG YOUR PARDON?”

   “your mofn. is it good? how bout the ernj jews?”

It took a second or two for Papyrus to figure out that Sans was talking about the glass of orange juice by his right hand.

   “SANS, WHY ARE YOU SAYING RANDOM WORDS AS IF YOU’VE GOT A MOUTH FULL OF COTTON?”

Sans shrugged, his grin far too impish for Papyrus’s liking.

   “dunno. just ‘cause. you gonna grab some fewt before leaving for work?”

   “SOME FOOT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

A vague gesture was made toward the small basket of fruit on the center of the table.

   “FRUIT. YOU ARE ASKING IF I AM GOING TO TAKE FRUIT?”

   “yea, that’s what i said.”

Oh, he wasn’t equipped to deal with this today, not today of all days. Why was Sans choosing _now_ to be as annoying as monsterly possible?

   “NO, I WILL NOT.”

   “ah, okay. welp. you go do your thing. i’ll just be here enjoying my sirl and mork.”

Sans proceeded to hunch over his bowl of cereal, doing a horrific job of hiding his giant smile.

   “STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT!”

   “like what?” he asked innocently with a tilt of his head.

   “STOP GARBLING WORDS!”

Sans held up a single hand in a pacifying gesture, the other shoving a spoonful of cereal in his mouth. He spoke in-between crunches, a dribble of milk shooting down his chin. Papyrus’s features twisted in revulsion at the rude display.

   “hey, chill bruh— _crunch—_ seriously, tho— _crunch—_ maybe you should take a blanabba or peesh with you, keep your energy up.” He swallowed his mouthful of thoroughly smashed cereal, his amused expression shifting to one more akin to concern, “you look exhausted.”

Usually, such a thoughtful gesture would make Papyrus feel a rush of affection for his brother, but the added joke and the rapidly fluctuating magic levels in his body just made him irritated and made him want to shut Sans up, he didn’t care how. It was when the thought of kissing him into silence invaded his mind that he realized that he needed to leave the apartment before he did something he’d probably regret.

   “DON’T TALK WITH YOUR MOUTH FULL! THAT’S DISGUSTING.”

He took a quick breath, calming himself and straightening the red cuffs of his shirt.

   “I’M FINE, BUT THANK YOU. I WILL BE TAKING MY LEAVE NOW. GOODBYE, SANS!”

   “mm, later bro.”

* * *

 

Papyrus loved his job. Really, he did. Once he’d learned how to properly cook, his borderline-fanatical focus on pasta had astronomically boosted his skill level. That combined with his cheerful demeanor and oddly well-developed ability to read people (he had the odd habit of leaving the kitchen to go talk to patrons, which had gotten him in trouble the first couple of times, but after Papyrus had suggested a dish and left the patron promising return visits due to his spectacular insight, the scolding abruptly stopped) had led to him being one of the most lauded cooks of humans and monsters alike. One day, he’d been preparing to dash back to the kitchen after taking an order when he’d heard a call of his name. A lanky, well-dressed man with hair the color of burnished gold and an easy smile waved at him from the counter. The man had invited him to become the sous chef of the most popular Italian restaurants in the city and after a long talk with his then-current boss, he’d accepted on the terms that he could still get a feel for his patrons personally. He had been somewhat unhappy that there was a lot more to being a sous chef than just cooking, but he at least had two other chefs to help him with orders, so he really couldn’t complain.

Today, though, his concentration was barely hanging on by a thread. He’d had to ask patrons more than once what they were craving and had tripped over a dropped fork, nearly faceplanting in front of a nearby waiter. Back in the kitchen, he nearly chopped off a finger while dicing several celery stalks, making his soul jump into his throat. Gently, he placed the knife down and stepped away from the counter, pressing the heels of his palms against his shut eyesockets.

   “Mr. Papyrus, sir, are you okay?”

He felt more than heard one of the chefs walk over to him. His magic buzzed beneath his bones, demanding he do something about his heat. Ferociously, he smashed it down.

   “I…HAVE BEEN FEELING A LITTLE OFF TODAY. BUT I WILL BE FINE!” He lowered his hands and beamed at the human. His hands brushed along the front of his uniform to hide their shaking.

   “LET ME SPLASH MY FACE WITH WATER AND I WILL RETURN SHORTLY. CAN YOU PLEASE TAKE OVER THE CELERY FOR ME? I WILL NOT SUFFER MR. TERRY WAITING MORE THAN TEN MINUTES FOR HIS MEAL!”

   “Yes, sir!”

   “JUST PAPYRUS!” he called as he left the kitchen. The manners of that one were admirable, really, but after so long of just being ‘Papyrus’, being called ‘sir’ just felt like too much.

Upon reaching the bathrooms, he stared at himself in the mirror again and noticed the slightly feverish quality his features had taken. Blast it all, he cursed as he focused on the light flush of his cheekbones. Any more and everyone would notice and he’d be forced to go home. He had to do _something_ , but what? He considered the stalls behind him and cringed at the idea. How could he even dare think of doing _that_ while on the clock? His magic twitched excitedly and his mind began throwing excuses at him. It’d be quick. He was already close to bursting at the seams already. It’d help. It’d calm him down until he got home where he could hide in his room after making dinner. He cursed to himself again as he found himself agreeing with his mind. It’d be quick.

He took out his phone to check the time and paused as he saw a message from Sans. What could Sans possibly be messaging him about? It was a picture message of mashed potatoes and text that said “*hope you make some folks good mershed perderders”, followed by another picture message of brussel sprouts with text that said “*do bursl prots go good with pasta?”. Oh good lord, maybe he shouldn’t go home. If Sans was going to do this all day, he was almost positive he would end up snapping at his brother…or something worse. But no, if he took the edge off now, he would be able to put up with it. At least long enough to escape to his room and get away from anything that could set him off. With that thought in mind and a quick glance around him, he moved to the stall furthest from the door and shut himself inside. He stared down at his crotch where a glow was steadily gaining strength. Oh stars, he was really going to do this.

A shot of adrenaline and excitement shot through him. _Oh stars, he was really going to do this_. He braced himself in front of the toilet, popping the button of his slacks and pulling the zipper down. The neat freak in him wanted to just take off his pants entirely and fold them to remove the risk of stains, but he denied it. He didn’t have time—or the inclination, if he was honest with himself—to take off his clothes.

Instead, he firmly pressed one hand against his mouth to smother the noises he knew he’d make and reached for his cock that had formed in the empty space between the teeth of his zipper. He wasted no time, wrapping his hand around the shaft and pumping quickly, eager to reach his finish. His legs shook with the onslaught of pleasure and nervous excitement. Papyrus stared down at the movement of his hand against his cock, imagining that the bony phalanges were not his. Gods, he shouldn’t want that. But the idea kept prodding at him, and the more he thought about it, the better the strokes felt. Oh gods, he wished it were Sans touching him like this.

It was a delayed thought, but he realized he’d probably loved Sans this way for a lot longer than he realized. _He loved Sans_. Oh, hell in a handbasket, he was so boned. Sans would never be able to love him like this. They were brothers. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. Sans was so horrible, but so good. So kind and funny at times, always knew how to make him laugh despite his horrible jokes, always there to cheer him up, to protect him. He imagined that Sans was standing behind him, a faint pressure between his scapulae. He imagined that Sans was stroking him and had his other hand against his spine, making feather-light touches against the vertebrae and discs. His hand tightened around his mouth, his eyesockets squeezing shut. Oh stars, he was getting so close…

A squeak of sound and footsteps caused Papyrus to freeze, his hand tightening almost painfully around his cock. Someone. Someone in the bathroom. But…but he was so close!! Dismay coursed through him at the untimely interruption. He couldn’t stop now. He just…he just had to be absolutely sure he was quiet now. His mind conjured images of Sans looking up at him with lust in his eyes, his cheekbones a radiant blue, of Sans squeezing around him as he took him from behind, of Sans breathily calling out…

   “papyrus.”

Shock flooded his system and he bit back a shout as he came, orange ectoplasm splattering in front of him. He hastily dropped to his knees, pulling out a long string of toilet paper and furiously wiping at the evidence of his actions on the floor and seat of the toilet. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. OH NO. With as much calm as he could muster, he called out while dismissing his still hard cock with a whirl of orange magic and fixing his pants.

   “YES, SANS?”

The voice of his brother was still low, calm, but he could detect the worry in it.

   “i got a call from your boss, saying you’ve been acting weird all day based on what one of the other chefs said. are you alright?”

Checking at least three times to make sure his outfit was as perfect as it was when he walked in, he opened the door to his stall and saw Sans leaning against one of the sinks. His brow ridges were drawn in concern.

   “paps, do you have a fever? you’re all flushed. here, lemme check your temperature.”

Papyrus held up one hand, a stab of panic making his soul flutter.

   “SANS, I AM NOT FEVERISH. I’M JUST…EMBARRASSED. YOU SEE…I WAS SLEEPING.”

Sans raised a brow ridge skeptically.

   “you? sleeping?”

No no _no_ , Sans chose _now_ to question what he said?

   “YES. SLEEPING. YOU MENTIONED HOW EXHAUSTED I LOOKED AND…WELL. IT TURNS OUT I WAS ACTUALLY QUITE TIRED. I DID NOT SLEEP AS WELL AS I WOULD HAVE LIKED.”

Sans at least seemed to accept that, which made Papyrus breathe an internal sigh of relief. But he had to resist the urge to fidget when Sans continued.

   “what happened to keep you up?”

Crud. Double crud. Uh…

   “I HAD A BAD DREAM. I COULDN’T FALL BACK ASLEEP AFTERWARD.”

Sans’s expression twisted in what seemed like a mixture of sympathy and interest.

   “what was it about? i…heh. i get lots of bad dreams, too. maybe i can help you out?”

_‘SANS STOP BEING SO CONCERNED, THIS IS PUTTING ME IN A DIFFICULT POSITION!’_ he screamed internally.

   “I…I DON’T REALLY WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.”

   “paps, i know it’s hard, but maybe talking will do you a world of good?”

_‘Like you tell me about yours?’_ he thought with a hint of bitterness. He had to think on the spot, come up with something that would get Sans off of his tail but would also genuinely upset him.

   “I…I DREAMT THAT I GOT FIRED.”

   “oh pap…” Sans raised up a hand and placed it on Papyrus’s shoulder, causing his posture to stiffen. The bones under Sans’s hand burned intensely and he had to muster everything in his body to not whine loudly at the feeling.

   “it’s okay. they’d be nuts to fire you, you’re the best and coolest chef this town has ever had.”

The burning was getting to be too much, so he stepped back, putting on a harried expression.

   “WHILE I APPRECIATE THE VOTE OF CONFIDENCE, THEY MIGHT ACTUALLY FIRE ME IF I DO NOT GET BACK TO WORK RIGHT THIS INSTANT. I HAVE ALREADY BLUNDERED ENOUGH BY NAPPING ON THE JOB.”

   “bro, maybe you should go home. if you were tired enough to fall asleep at work, maybe you really need the rest.”

Papyrus shook his head immediately, his arms crossing over his chest to keep his hands from…from pushing Sans out of the way or bending him over the sink, he wasn’t sure.

   “ABSOLUTELY NOT. I AM GOING TO WORK, AND THAT IS THAT. I HAVE AN OBLIGATION TO FULFILL.”

He could see the gears turning in Sans’s head as he tried figuring out a way to get Papyrus to go home, but eventually he shrugged and let out a small sigh.

   “guess i can’t stop you. but.” He glared sternly at papyrus. “if you feel worse at any point or you feel like you’re gonna end up gettin’ hurt due to exhaustion, come home.”

   “YES, YES, OF COURSE. I WILL NOT LET MY QUALITY FALTER IN THE FACE OF SUCH A TRIVIAL MATTER. I FEEL A BIT BETTER WITH THE NAP, SO…IT’S ALRIGHT NOW. GO HOME, I WILL FOLLOW THIS EVENING. HAVE A POT OF WATER SIMMERING FOR ME SO THAT I MAY BEGIN DINNER IMMEDIATELY.”

   “are you sure? you don’t want me to take care of dinner today?”

   “NONSENSE, THIS LITTLE MISHAP HAS ME IN A NEED FOR SOME COMFORT FOOD.”

   “uh…okay. if you’re sure.”

   “QUITE. NOW IF YOU WILL EXCUSE ME.”

He made to move past Sans and felt another wave of heat explode out from near his right elbow. Choking back a hiss, he turned his head to see Sans gripping the white material of his long-sleeved shirt.

   “SANS, WHAT—”

   “papyrus, it’s okay to take a break every now and then.”

Oh gods, he never called Papyrus by his full name. And his expression was so serious.

   “you’ve been working nonstop since we got up here. i know ‘burnout’ isn’t really something you’ve considered, but…just.” Sans sighed heavily, squeezing Papyrus’s elbow and causing the taller skeleton to curl his fingers in a fist to hold back the moan of desperation. “if you ever need to stop for a minute, to smell the flowers, just do it, okay? no one’s gonna judge you.”

   “I—” he choked, then cleared his throat, pulling away from Sans’s grip. Again. “I appreciate the sentiment, Sans. If I need a break, I will take one. Thank you.”

   “no problem…welp, guess I’ll go now. got some crickem nigfops in the freezer that are calling my name.”

Before Papyrus could scream that it was “CHICKEN NUGGETS!!!!”, Sans disappeared in a blink with a smile and a shrug. Leave it to Sans to ruin a touching moment, the cad. Running his hands down the front of his uniform again in an attempt to both make sure it was perfect and to calm himself, he pushed open the door. He was riled up again from all of Sans’s touches and aggravating demeanor, but he couldn’t repeat his earlier solution. He took a quick breath. He’d just have to try harder to ignore the issue.

* * *

 

The rest of his shift passed in a blur. He knew he had been a bit sharper with his fellow chefs than normal, but as the heat within him grew, he couldn’t bring himself to care enough. He’d apologize when he was back to normal. They attributed his shorter-than-usual orders and movements to annoyance with his brother since they were usually seen bickering in some fashion. Or at least, Papyrus bickering at Sans for telling some atrocious joke. Well…they weren’t wrong, partially anyway. Sans _had_ aggravated him, just not entirely the way they were thinking. He paused outside the door to their apartment and he laid his skull against the door, his eyes falling shut. Stars help him, he didn’t know how he was going to deal with this. In fact, without a partner, his heat would probably last another day or so. He was going to die. That settled it. There was no possible way that Sans was going to stop telling jokes for a day or not purposefully look for ways to annoy him. His control would break at some point and he’d end up approaching Sans in a way that he was sure the other skeleton would not be comfortable with. Well, he thought to himself as he twisted the door handle, time to begin his trial.

To his immediate left he saw Sans curled up on their couch half asleep, a book in his hands and glasses perched on the tip of his nasal cavity. A quick silent plea was sent out to ask anyone or anything for help. He’d always thought Sans had looked great with glasses on, but in his current predicament, he felt a fresh wave of warmth pulse through his body at the sight, especially once Sans cracked his eyes open, unintentionally giving him a look that had him wanting to jump out the nearest window to save them both. His brother’s voice was a little rough around the edges and lower than normal as he tried shaking off the dregs of sleep.

   “mm bro…? welcome home…”

Papyrus’s voice, on the other hand, was a little higher pitched with badly-covered anxiety as he moved toward the kitchen, his steps hurried.

   “YES-THANK-YOU-I-WILL-GET-STARTED-ON-DINNER-NOW!”

   “wha…?”

Sans wasn’t spared an answer and he heard the sharp snap of the knife drawer being closed. Papyrus hadn’t pressed the issue when Sans refused to touch knives in any capacity, considering it one of his many odd quirks, and Sans was thankful for that. Quick ‘thwak’ing sounds of the knife hitting the cutting board followed, and he tried to imagine what Papyrus was doing. He’d really become a force to be reckoned when it came to cooking and it never failed to impress Sans when he decided to watch his brother work. He’d never be able to be that good at cooking. Hell, he burned simple microwaveable meals every once in a while if he wasn’t careful. But at least he knew theoretical physics, right? _Ha ha_ , he laughed bitterly in his head. Like that would get him anywhere useful. Right now he was just a TA at the local university, reduced to grading assignments and handing out papers like a dispensing machine. Nothing near as prestigious as Papyrus’s job, really.

Gods, he was so proud of his brother for pursuing his passions with so much enthusiasm. It was admirable, envy-worthy…and attractive, if he were honest with himself. For a loveable goofball like Papyrus to become what he was now was a feat he could hardly dream of—stupid calculator was missing out, he thought smugly. He couldn’t bring himself to genuinely hate Mettaton—hate was a concept that monsters couldn’t grasp properly—but he was generally displeased with how his relationship with Papyrus had gone down. Papyrus deserved all the attention in the world, not the shallow humans that wanted a quick autograph and a sliver of the limelight. Hell, if it had been him, he would have given Papyrus the world if he’d asked.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought with a low groan of frustration. His less-than-brotherly disposition toward Papyrus had thankfully gone unnoticed, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. He fought every damn day to keep it down because Papyrus didn’t need that kind of issue in his life. When he’d seen Papyrus today in the bathroom at his job, he’d so dearly wanted to hold the taller skeleton’s face in his hands and then kiss him silly because dear god that flushed foggy expression was going to be the death of him. But he held back. Because that’s what he did best—held everything back. Instead he made a nuisance of himself in every way he could possibly think, because that’s what brothers did.

   “SANS, SUPPER IS ALMOST READY. SEAT YOURSELF AT THE TABLE.”

That had been quick. Sluggishly, Sans pulled himself from the couch and made his way over to the small space that had been designated their dining room and plopped himself down in his chair, removing his reading glasses and placing them on the table (he loved his glasses—they were designed to squeeze his skull and be held in place with rubber grips, like a clamp). As he sat there waiting, the smell from the kitchen wafted over to him and he felt a smile begin to grow as he recognized the mix of spices. Perfect. Two soft scrapes against the counter told Sans that Papyrus would be arriving soon with their plates and, sure enough, Papyrus moved quickly into the dining room, carrying—as Sans had rightly guessed—spaghetti. His plate was obvious, covered in a thick layer of freshly grated parmesan cheese versus Papyrus’s light sprinkling. The sprig of green near the edge of his plate was practically an afterthought, a garnish that Papyrus refused to bypass even if it ended up on the table.

   “looks delicious as usual, paps.”

   “THANK YOU.”

Once Papyrus sat down, Sans dug into his plate, smiling to himself. He had to time it right. He’d been doing well today, the list he’d found on the internet providing him with a wellspring of things to irritate Papyrus with. It was after a solid five minutes of silence and Papyrus’s fourth forkful that he struck.

   “so…do you really consider spogooter a comfort food?”

The fifth forkful paused halfway up to Papyrus’s mouth, his entire body freezing. A barely visible shudder ran through him, his grip on the fork tightening enough to bend the handle slightly. Oh this was going to be _good_ , Sans thought. Papyrus’s voice was low, strained.

   “Did you…just call my signature dish… _spogooter_?”

Sans was trying hard not to laugh and failing, choked snorts and huffs of laughter escaping the hand that had risen to cover his mouth.

   “oh, sorry paps. would you rather i call it spegy n merbls instead?”

Papyrus stood in one quick motion, his chair scraping across the floor. He yanked Sans’s bowl away from him and took their meal back to the kitchen, his expression flat. Sans scratched at the back of his neck, no longer quite as amused at the odd reaction.

   “aw hell, maybe i pushed too—” he cut off midsentence as Papyrus strode back into the room, heading straight for him. Something near where his gut would be sank when Papyrus grabbed a fistful of his turtleneck and dragged him upward out of his chair, his brother’s narrowed dark eyesockets boring into him. This was _not_ what he had had in mind!

   “h-hey! paps i’m sorry, really—” he was cut of this time by the low hiss of Papyrus’s voice.

   “I have had just about enough of your mouth, _brother_.”

Shit.

   “look, papyrus, i was just messing around, i didn’t mean to—”

He shivered when he felt himself get placed on the table and Papyrus leaned forward between his legs to leave only an inch of space between them, his right eye flickering a vivid orange.

   “All. Day. I’ve been trying to control myself all day, and you’ve chosen _today_ of all times to make the biggest nuisance of yourself when my inhibitions are weakest.”

   “p-paps, what are you talking abou—”

Sans froze when one of Papyrus’s hands gripped his jaw, squeezing lightly.

   “Sans. Please, stop _talking_.”

For a solid three seconds, Sans didn’t really register the fact that Papyrus was kissing him, and his mind nearly shut down when he felt a warm tongue prodding at his teeth. Completely beyond his control, he whined lowly in the back of his throat, his hands shakily rising to clutch at the red scarf that was tucked into his brother’s collar. Papyrus’s tongue easily overpowered his, wrapping around the shorter blue appendage and wrestling it into submission. He gasped in-between kisses, his mind scrambling to catch up with everything that was going on.

   “w-wai—”

Their bodies were flush and Sans was stuck between pushing Papyrus away to ask what the hell had gotten into him and pulling him closer because dear _gods_ he tasted amazing. He choked back a yelp when he felt fingers scrape against the crest of his hip.

   “bro…bro where is this comi—”

The fingers at his hip dug in, scraping against the bone through the cloth of his shorts. He shuddered at that, exhaling harshly. Papyrus’s teeth were ghosting along his and Sans heard a hint of a growl in his voice.

   “Sans…if my tongue cannot get you to stop chattering, what will?”

His mind scrambled for an answer, automatically wanting to go for a joke but also trying to give a legitimate response.

   “s…something bigger than a tongue?” he responded feebly.

Sans whimpered when something _hot_ pressed against his groin and he squirmed a little, generating the barest amount of friction. The hand at his hip squeezed.

   “Like. _What_?”

   “i…i…uh…papyrus, _what has gotten into you_?”

Papyrus paused at this, blinking as if his thought process was barely catching up with him. He pulled back from Sans as if burned, his hands clenching in fists at his sides. The look of horror and guilt plastered across Papyrus’s features made Sans wish he’d never said anything.

   “Sans…I…I am so sorry. I…I’m not thinking straight. I…I’m in heat and…and I’ve been thinking of you all day and I’ve been trying so hard to keep it under control, but you were just…finding all the wrong buttons to press and…oh stars, _I’m so sorry_.”

Sans digested this information quickly. He knew how heats worked. Magic levels in monsters went off the charts, driving them to mate with their partners in hopes of continuing their species, but the urgent need to mate was almost always specifically targeted towards the one the monster in heat desired the most. So if his brother had been thinking of him all day…he lurched off the table and caught up to Papyrus who was already halfway across the living room.

   “paps, wait. you…you want me?”

Papyrus’s head hung low, his shoulders drooping in what Sans could only assume was shame.

   “Sans…I want you more than anything in the world.”

He circled around to where they were face to face and he reached up, cupping Papyrus’s flushed face in his hands. His soul was fluttering wildly in his chest, hope and excitement blooming.

   “do you love me?”

   “Yes.” he whispered.

   “oh, paps,” Sans breathed, inching upward, “i love you too.”

Papyrus leaned into the kiss immediately, his heat still not allowing him the softness he usually possessed. He devoured Sans’s mouth, his arms coming up to wrap around the shorter skeleton and squeeze them together tightly. Sans whimpered into his mouth, becoming pliant instantly. Maybe he was rushing, but goddamn, Papyrus was in heat and it was _glorious_ finally being able to do this. He pulled his face away slightly, his shallow pants filling the space between them.

   “i…never answered that question…”

   “Hm?”

The short skeleton grinned lightly, his blue flush darkening.

   “the something that’s bigger than your tongue.”

Papyrus had to lock his knees to keep from collapsing when he felt one of Sans’s hands brush against his crotch.

   “You mean…”

   “yeah. if…if you’re alright with it?”

   “…I hope you realize what a ridiculous question that is given my state.”

Sans continued to stroke a finger along the tent in Papyrus’s pants. He’d never done this before, hell, he’d never done _any_ of this before, but he had enough of an idea from some choice videos he’d seen on the internet. Human internet was so much more expansive than that of the Underground. He pulled away from Papyrus’s hold and slowly sank to his knees, feeling the vibrations of his soul increase. It took several seconds for him to push up the hem of Papyrus’s shirt and to undo the button of his slacks, his nervousness increasing. Oh gods, he didn’t usually question himself or his abilities, but what if he did badly? What if he couldn’t satisfy Papyrus? What if he—

   “Sans,” Papyrus uttered, his voice laced in warning, “while I understand the need for a dramatic build-up, patience is _not_ one of my strongest points right now.”

That wasn’t what he’d been going for, but he’d let Papyrus believe that that was the purpose. He felt like all of his bones were going to be suffused in blue when he finally saw the orange glow poking between the teeth of the zipper and gulped silently when the cock sprang free, a bead of whitish orange already gathered at the tip. Feeling like he’d wasted enough time, he leaned forward and licked the bead up, moaning softly in surprise at the oddly tangy-sweet taste of the fluid. Papyrus’s hands hovered over him, moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, then moved back to him once the shirt had been popped open. Sans wanted to lick every exposed inch of bone, but judging by the pained, almost wild look in Papyrus’s eyesockets, he doubted he’d be able to do much of anything for this time.

Gingerly, he grasped the orange cock and pumped a few times, his tongue coming out to lick at the tip again. He glanced up to see Papyrus’s expression again and felt something similar to stage fright when he found Papyrus staring back down at him, watching him with rapt attention. His eyelights flicked back down to his task and he leaned in a little to take all of the tip in his mouth, sucking softly. The body in front of him shuddered and he felt hands land on either side of his head.

   “S-Sans…I’m sorry…but you are being entirely. Too. _Gentle_.”

Sans had to resist choking in surprise when both his head—courtesy of those large hands—and the hips in front of him snapped forward, causing the dick in his mouth to get shoved to the back of his throat. Papyrus growled softly, his eyesockets falling shut.

   “ _Oh…y-yes…_ ”

At that point, Sans could barely do more than remind himself that breathing wasn’t necessary for skeletons and that gag reflex was just an illusion, because Papyrus’s thrusts were, while not fast, hard and deep. His half-lidded eyesockets pricked with tears and he looked up again to lock gazes with his brother, his hands coming up to grip the fabric of his slacks. His own erection was borderline painful, but touching it was the last thing on his mind right then. He gurgled around the dick in his mouth, wanting to tell Papyrus that he needed him so, _so_ badly. Papyrus continued thrusting, his hands squeezing gently around Sans’s skull.

   “Don’t…hah…talk with… _mm_ …your mouth full…”

His eyes narrowing, Sans swallowed around the head of Papyrus’s cock during the next thrust, causing him to cry out and freeze in place, giving Sans the opportunity to pull away and surge to his feet, yanking Papyrus down for a kiss. Papyrus moaned as their tongues tangled, the taste of his pre an unusual—but not unwelcome—addition. Sans whispered against his mouth, his voice rough with need.

   “papyrus… _fuck me_. please.”

Wordlessly, Papyrus flipped him around and nudged him toward the arm of the couch, prompting him to lean over it and plant his hands against the cushion in front of him. Sans, despite his foggy mind and overwhelming arousal, couldn’t help but make one more jab.

   “you discovered my secret, paps.”

There was a cessation of movement behind him.

   “What?”

   “my real name is ben. last name dover.”

It was silent for a moment before he heard a swish of fabric. A flash of red—Papyrus’s scarf?—covered his eyes for a fraction of a second before he felt a tug of fabric against his mouth, prying his jaws open and effectively gagging him. His hands flew up to grab at the material, but Papyrus was faster, letting the scarf go for a second to snag his wrists and pin his arms behind his back with a single hand. He felt his shorts get tugged down over his hips in one quick motion, the clothing pooling at his ankles. Instinctively, he kicked the material off, flinging it in some vague direction he couldn’t be bothered to care about. The scarf was pulled taut again, presumably held by the other hand and Sans tugged against it, a string of muffled words escaping him. Papyrus huffed at the action.

   “If you are aiming to apologize, please save it until afterward. I believe I requested that you stop talking, yet you didn’t. You have asked that I ‘fuck you’, as you have so crudely put it, and I will. Now hold…still.”

On his last word, he began pushing his engorged cock into the hole in Sans’s pelvis, causing Sans to cry out against the gag and renew his squirming despite the demand to not move. Papyrus wasted no time, Sans body having long since primed itself for him, thrusting hard enough that Sans got pushed harder onto the arm of the couch. Sans’s eyesockets were screwed shut, a wisp of blue trailing out from his left eye, and indecipherable sounds were coming from behind the gag.

   “Dear gods, Sans….this…feels…so…so good. You are…so…perfect…”

Sans wanted to thrust back against him, but movement was practically impossible with how energetically his brother was moving. On the plus side, the friction of his dick against the fabric of the couch was driving him nuts in the best way possible, not rough enough to burn, but hard enough to give it the attention it so desperately needed. Papyrus felt so fucking good inside him, the heat of his cock deliciously scorching his walls. He was rough, he was merciless, he was perfect. Sans doubted it would stay this way once Papyrus’s heat was over, but he had to admit that the added touch of irritation is likely what made it all the better. He shuddered against his brother, his hips wriggling as much as they could to get more of Papyrus, the wet noises of their joining making him whine. He needed to touch himself, he needed it, he was so _close_ …the thrusts against him picked up speed, thus putting more friction against his cock and he wept in relieved joy.

   “Sans…oh stars, Sans…I’m…so…close…a-ah…oh s-stars…”

Sans moaned against the scarf, his own feeble thrusts stuttering as his orgasm built up inside him like a tidal wave. Almost abruptly, Papyrus released both the scarf and his wrists, his hands going to wrap around his hips. The speed of his thrusts increased again as his own orgasm approached and Sans could no longer handle it, spitting out the scarf and crying out as he came hard, his hands gripping the couch tightly. Papyrus followed after another quick burst of thrusts, a wordless shout escaping him as he released inside of Sans. He was quick to turn Sans around and pick him up, carrying him around the side to sit down on the couch properly. Wordlessly, he touched their foreheads together and shut his eyesockets, Sans following suit as they attempted to catch their breath. After a few moments, Papyrus pulled away and looked down to where Sans’s arms lay limply.

   “Let me see,” he demanded softly.

   “huh?” Sans responded blearily, “whaddya need?”

Papyrus ran a finger along Sans’s wrist and picked up one arm, inspecting the delicate bones with a critical eye.

   “I was too rough, wasn’t I?”

At this, Sans scoffed, perking up and fighting off his urge to nap.

   “what? hell no, paps, remind me to make you irritated more often.”

   “What? Why?”

   “because. that was easily the best sex i’ve ever had.”

   “SANS!” he cried indignantly.

   “don’t even try to deny it,” he shot back, a brow ridge raising in challenge.

   “…”

   “although…that’s kinda the first time i’ve done it, so i guess way to set the bar?”

Papyrus sputtered, his cheekbones darkening back to the level they were at before.

   “F…FIRST!?”

Sans scratched at the side of his skull with his index finger, his expression sheepish.

   “y…yeah?”

   “You’ve…you’ve really never…?”

   “nope, have you seriously seen me be interested in anyone?”

   “Well…no. But I didn’t know you were interested in me, either! Who knows how many crushes you could have been hiding!”

   “what about you?” Sans blurted.

   “…what _about_ me?”

   “have _you_ been with someone? did you and mettaton ever…?”

Papyrus’s grip on Sans tightened at the expression on his face.

   “No. Never. He was hardly ever home! And…I. I suppose it was never even a thought in our minds at the time. It was difficult enough just to find time to be in the same room for more than ten minutes. You know that. I told you.”

He took a deep breath.

   “So…you are my first, as well. I can promise you, the only reason I seemed half competent in this particular area of romance is because of my heat. Which…I hope you don’t mind that I will likely be needing you again sometime tonight.”

Sans felt a wave of heat rush through his bones at the idea.

   “yeah, nope. no objections to that at all.”

   “Oh. Yes. That is to say…good.”

There was a brief period where neither of them said a word. Then Sans smiled slightly and tilted his head up at Papyrus.

   “so, that’s got me wonderin’…”

   “Yes?”

Sans leaned up, nuzzling the side of Papyrus’s skull and he felt warm hands stroke along his ribs, making him shiver.

   “if you love me…and i love you…and we’re together like this…”

   “Mm-hm?” Papyrus replied lowly.

   “does that make us…”

Papyrus opened his mouth to respond in an affirmative, but Sans cut him off.

   “ _brofriends_?”

Sans was promptly shoved off the couch.


End file.
